Ultimate Sins

by Jean Roberta

  There must be more to life than this, I thought. Yet the answer never came readily to me. The change in my fortunes was as sudden as it was inevitable

  It was one of those dismal days in September. The battery in the alarm clock had expired. I was late for work on the very day that Horace decided it was time to trim his nose hairs.

  I arrived in the office in a foul mood just in time for my computer to crash. Yvonne came to my rescue with a chocolate Brazil. Bless her.

  Yvonne and I go back years. Not that we’d discussed our private lives much.

  2

  We did meet occasionally, however and took along our respective spouses.

  With morale being low and bio-therms on the ebb, this was the day we were destined to give ourselves an ear bashing over lunch.

  ‘I fancy doing a Shirley Valentine,’ I said.

  ‘Great,’ Yvonne agreed. ‘I get the holiday, you get the Greek.’

  ‘As if,’ I scoffed, ‘Don’t tell me you’d turn down the prospect of a couple of days with a hunky Greek God?’

  ‘Forget it,’ she said, offering another chocolate Brazil.

  ‘Off it are we?’ I enquired politely.

  ‘Off it? Off it, chance would be a fine thing. The man’s insatiable.’

  ‘Honestly?’

  ‘Believe it.’

  ‘What’s insatiable anyway?’

  ‘Y’mean Horace is no raging bull in the bedroom?’

  ‘He’s not even a raging tom cat. Remember that wild life programme on television where lions mate every half-hour for eighteen months?’

  ‘Oh yes. Had to turn over. Trevor was watching.’

  ‘Well there’s not much lion in Horace. His idea is half an hour every eighteen months.’

  3

  ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘Oh, he’s alright – but what wouldn’t I give for a bit of passion.’

  ‘You can borrow Trevor for a weekend if you like?’

  We both stopped talking at that moment. It was as if both our minds locked into the possibility. I savoured the prospect for an instant. Trevor was a bit tasty after all. Wistful sighs arrived simultaneously.

  ‘Ah, the peace,’ breathed Yvonne.

  ‘Ooh, the passion,’ said I.

  The silence was unbearable. I broke it.

  ‘No, no we couldn’t. We must be mad to even think about it.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Yvonne sighed.

  She didn’t offer any more chocolate Brazils after that. Misery lasted another twenty-four hours. I didn’t get the chance to get my coat off in the morning when Yvonne dragged me off to the loo.

  ‘Sod it,’ she said with the sort of venom which ill matched her character. ‘We’ll do it – you can have Trevor for the weekend. He always fancied you anyway.’ Her words were spoken with relish.

  4

  The fact that Trevor fancied me wasn’t a bad start. Her enthusiasm was contagious.

  ‘Look, I’ve been thinking. We are the same height, same sort of figure, and about the same dress size.’

  So we went into detail. On the Friday we’d do a show together, have a meal and arrange to get home, or should I say each others homes, after the men folk had gone to bed.

  To be on the safe side, in case of nosey neighbours, we’d change dresses. Finally we arranged to meet in the supermarket car park on Sunday morning and exchange front door keys.

  Once we’d got down to the planning, it didn’t seem half so frightening a prospect. Horace liked Yvonne. An attractive woman – pleasing to look at, was how he described her.

  Thursday evening I caught Horace checking his calendar. My stomach turned somersaults. Such panic was short-lived. He was only confirming a dental appointment.

  Friday at last! I dressed carefully. Horace noticed.

  ‘You look splendid, my dear,’ he observed.

  ‘Yvonne and I are going out this evening.’

  5

  ‘So you are; I’d quite forgotten. Going straight from the office, are you?’

  ‘Yes. We thought it would be easier. We are going for a meal after the show. We might be a bit late. Will you be up?’

  Did he notice my sharp intake of breath as I waited, inwardly quivering, for his answer? Apparently not.

  ‘Shouldn’t think so. Enjoy yourself. Tell me all about it over breakfast.’

  The show was great, but who watched it? Certainly not Yvonne and I. We changed dresses in the loo at the theatre. I was not best pleased to note that she looked better in mine than I did.

  It was a brief moment of discontent. After all she was getting Horace while I was getting greedy, hungry, lusty Trevor. It was a fair swap.

  The witching hour finally came and the trap was sprung. We finished our small talk on the pavement outside the restaurant. Suddenly there was no more to say. We wished each other good luck, a brief hug for comfort – then Yvonne was gone.

  As I put Yvonne’s front door key in the lock I gave myself a thankful moment. At least the layout of the house was familiar to me.

  6

  The place was in darkness. Trevor was in bed.

  A small moment of panic. Should I turn and run while there was still time? Then I thought of Horace and his calendar. Yvonne had got it right. Sod it!

  In the bedroom there was little sound except Trevor’s quiet breathing. I tiptoe around to my side, well Yvonne’s actually – then quietly undressed.

  Gingerly I felt around under the pillow for the nightdress. There wasn’t one. Almost as gingerly I eased my naked body into the bed beside the sleeping Trevor. This is it, girl, I told myself apprehensively, but such thoughts were fleeting.

  The man had built in radar. Hardly had I settled myself when Trevor turned over sleepily and reached out for me. His hand rested lightly at first.

  As the sleep left him, the hand began to trace soft patterns across my skin. First up, then down. I liked that. I moved to his touch, a growing need swiftly replacing anxiety.

  The searching fingers moved upwards once more and found my nipples. His hand smoothed over the contours of each breast in turn. Then his attentions focused on each nipple.

  Pinching each, Trevor brought a firm response. So this was foreplay?

  Below, I could feel a stirring, sensual need.

  7

  This unusual feeling of desire increased as he moved his head. He took each nipple in turn, placing moist lips over each and drawing to bring further response.

  His hands sped downwards. The curled fingers sought, then found. Shock waves of pleasure coursed through me as he slipped his probing messenger into the moistness of my vagina.

  By now I could both sense as well as smell the maleness of him. That sweet, evocative odour which only sensed to heighten my own desire. Such heady sensuality gave impetus to fresh boldness.

  I reached across to follow the hair line across his belly. Yvonne forgot to tell me about this. Trevor was big. Not that I am an authority, you understand.

  Running my hand up and down its length I marvelled in the darkness as the shaft bucked and twitched impatiently in my gentle grasp.

  I wanted to play with the fascinating beast, tease it a little. Trevor’s expert ministrations, however, gave hunger and my own impatience greater priority.

  Trevor sensed as much. He uttered no more than a sigh. His lips sought to find my own in the gloom. My thighs parted a welcome.

  8

  He rubbed the pulsing head of his demanding organ across the lips of that part of my body which sought greedily to devour its tormenter.

  Trevor remained poised above me for an instant, but it was an instant too long. I curled my legs about him, grasped high buttocks tightly and pulled him inside me.

  I felt the head of his shaft slip beyond the lips. Together we moved and I was hugely, wonderfully full of him.

  Control was out of the question as I matched his thrusting pace in the race for early completion. It seemed he was hardly inside me when our nearness became ap
parent.

  No time to adjust to a sensual rhythm before I felt the vibrations deep within my own body, a body hungry to devour his all. Biting my lip I attempted to quell my rising excitement.

  With a cry, a mixture of torment and exhilaration, I felt that glorious release. My contractions pumped the very soul of my lover, draining him to the last drop.

  We spoke not a word as we lay side by side. For my part, I felt that words would shatter the magic of that very special moment. Sleep began to overtake me.

  9

  Just before it did, lying in the close comfort of the man beside me, I did offer up one silent, grateful thought. Thanks, Yvonne.

  I awoke with the sunlight streaming through the curtains. At the same time as I was struggling with consciousness, my mind was trying to cope with the unfamiliar surroundings. When at last I grasped the situation I turned to see Trevor, propped up on one elbow, smiling down at me.

  ‘Look,’ I said. ‘I know you think this is unusual.’

  He didn’t, least if he did he forgot to mention it. For at that moment of awakening, Trevor began once more to play wicked games with my responsive body.

  Our foreplay assumed a mutuality which normally takes years to perfect. Here I was, after years in a wilderness of sexual indifference responding to Trevor as if we’d known both our sensitive areas through a relationship of long standing.

  He had the sort of touch which sent shivers of anticipation right through me. We held, touched, caressed with such wise hands that our coupling became almost instantaneous.

  I needed to feel his charging monster thrust deep inside me once again.

  10

  I wanted the fullness of his impatient loins grinding upon my own in ecstatic gyrations.

  My hungry void once more devoured the man inside me. Our mutual release was a celebration, a promise of fulfilment to reward all my lost years.

  All that sex made me ravenous. I tucked into a full breakfast. I thought of Yvonne. I had no doubt that Horace and Yvonne were sitting down to a very civilised breakfast.

  She would try to look interested while he banged on about the economic situation in Albania. I looked across at Trevor. It was a warm moment. I knew where I’d rather be.

  In my own home I could soak in a bath for hours. With Trevor it was a different ball game altogether.

  Who needed hands when you had someone this attentive? He washed my back, front, top and bottom. To show willing, I washed Trevor. The response was instantaneous. The man came complete with his own built in towel rail.

  In the evening we went for a meal. Here the difference between Horace and Trevor became even more apparent. Horace always ate the same way as he lived, with meticulous detail.

  I gazed around the crowded restaurant.

  11

  Crowded it might be, but this did not prevent Trevor playing those same wicked games beneath the tablecloth.

  He traced exciting patterns on my inner thigh as we waited for each course to arrive. Throughout the meal he talked incessantly and ate one-handed. By the time dessert arrived, I could have bitten clean through the spoon.

  Sex in the restaurant car park was almost a forgone conclusion. It wasn’t easy. It was just as well we took the car. Even then it was difficult, but delightful.

  The couple in the car parked next to ours obviously thought so as well. They didn’t bother to go for a meal until we’d finished. I’d have preferred it if Trevor had left the interior lights off though.

  By bedtime, on our return from the restaurant, I was beginning to think that the weekend had been well worthwhile. Tomorrow I would have to face the consequences when I returned home, but tomorrow was another day.

  My sexual famine had been well and truly catered for. Excitement, passion and even novelty had given me the sexual fillip I so badly needed.

  I knew that I should laugh about the car park experience for years to come.

  12

  Time to settle down for a warm, contented sleep to finish my perfect day.

  Not quite, though. Once in bed I realised that Trevor’s day had not yet drawn to a satisfactory conclusion. There was just one thing outstanding, and I could feel that pressing against me in the darkness.

  My own well of passion had run dry. Yet since Trevor had afforded me so much pleasure over the weekend, it was the least I could do.

  If I slept, it couldn’t have been for long. Sometime in the middle of the night Trevor woke me again. If my grunts and sighs were somewhat off key, it was because I wasn’t fully awake.

  When dawn broke, Trevor once again chased my sleepiness away. I was beginning to feel like a rung-out dish cloth. All too quickly I began to feel sympathy for Yvonne’s problems. Suddenly my fruitful weekend had turned into a nightmare.

  The man was indeed insatiable. If he were mine on a regular basis I’d force feed him a bromide diet.

  Escape was the only instant solution, so I fled to the bathroom. This time I didn’t emerge until I washed, dressed and secured from toes to earrings.

  After breakfast, I phoned Yvonne to confirm arrangements. She answered the phone.

  13

  ‘I can’t talk right now,’ she said. I assumed that Horace was in the close proximity.

  I reminded her of the meeting time and place for our later meeting.

  ‘Right.’ Was all she said as if the words had been forced between clenched teeth. In any event, her voice sounded very distant. Then the phone went dead.

  I left Trevor to do the breakfast dishes. He followed me out into the hall.

  He put his arms around me. ‘It’s been a lovely weekend.’ He said.

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. It’s been different.’

  ‘What time do you have to meet Yvonne?’ he asked with that look in his eye. Clearly Trevor was in the mood for a quick one for the road.

  ‘Soon’ I said.’ Look I must go.’

  We kissed. ‘We ought to do this again,’ he said, pressing against me.

  ‘What a good idea,’ I lied, pushing him away and opening the door.

  ‘I’ll miss you.’

  ‘Me too.’ I said with a straight face. ‘Bye’

  I parked at the agreed place. Yvonne drove up and stopped.

  14

  We exchanged keys and she drove off without uttering a word.

  It occurred to me that Yvonne didn’t look very rested for her few days of undemanding tranquillity with Horace. Perhaps her nerves had got the better of her.

  What a relief it was to be home. Horace, I could hear moving about in the bathroom. I hoped he wouldn’t be long. I wanted nothing more than a nice long peaceful – undisturbed soak in the bath.

  In the bedroom I undressed slowly. I noted with pleasure all the familiar things I had taken for granted a few days earlier.

  Horace’s clothes were in a jumbled heap on the floor. Most unusual. As I was folding his clothes the way he liked them I noticed his torn calendar in the waste bin. Perhaps he’d torn it up in a fit of pique when he discovered me missing over the weekend. I had no time to give the matter further thought. The bathroom door opened.

  Horace came into the bedroom wearing just a bathrobe. Also I noticed that he hadn’t shaved for a day or two. Odd!

  Before I had a chance to say hello, he’d discarded the dressing gown, throwing it carelessly into one corner.

  15

  He advanced, pushed me down upon the bed, swiftly divesting me of both knickers and bra.

  This with an unfamiliar speed and purpose I’d not associated with Horace in the past.

  Just as he began to devour my exhausted nipples, just as he attempted to bring my care worn body back to life, a fleeting thought permeated my reasoning.

  First thing in the morning, I thought, when the shops are open, I’ll rush out and buy Horace another calendar.

  Blindspot

  by Elspeth Potter

  Being blind makes an orgy the most shattering experience in the world. In daily life, I’m always listening t
o the tap, tap, tap of my cane, listening for echoes, listening for movement, listening to hear if a truck is about to smash me flat. I’m always thinking: how to find the fridge, how to find the toilet, how to get to the bank. In the middle of an orgy, you can forget all that. You don’t have to worry who’s looking at you, seeing things about you that you can’t see about them; everybody is looking at each other, for one purpose only, and the brush of unknown eyes becomes exciting. There’s nothing to trip you up but pillows and bodies, no sharp edges anywhere for you to bump into; you can revel in the caress of different textures. It’s a velvet universe of sighs and groans and sucking noises, and everywhere the miasma of bodily pleasure.

  Everyone knows me at the swingers’ club. Even though Sol and I divorced three years ago, women are always in demand and I continued to come here where everyone is in the dark. It’s always warm in these rooms, and sound is muffled. It’s a little like I imagine it must be in the womb, except for the smells. Mary Dubuque still wears the same fruity edible body paint she’s stuck to for the last five years, and there’s latex, and come, and lubricant, and mingling perfumes, and contraceptive foam, and the sharp stink of sweat.

  Everybody knows to tell me their name when they approach, so I won’t have to guess. There’s a lot of uncertainty in not being able to see people, see their reactions and body language, so it’s easier when they come to me, and I know I’m welcome. I need to be as welcome as possible.

  I love the press of hot bodies to mine, the more the better. I like to get fucked from the back while someone else – a man, a woman, I can’t see them, I don’t care – sucks my tits, or even just lies beneath me like a live rug, feeling the impact each time hips slam into my ass. One day I’m going to try having two guys fuck me at once, one in my pussy and one in my ass, but not yet; maybe if someone else did it first, near me, so I could hear if she liked it.

  Tonight was a little different than usual. Dante Baker had been to a store in New York City, and brought back a few toys. He told me about it, pressed up against my front while Marcus Viallo dry-humped my hip. Dante pressed something tiny into my hand. “It’s a plug,” he said. “Want to try it?”

  Marcus, as usual, had a gigantic hard-on, and I could feel his heat through latex as he lazily stroked it over my buttock and pressed it into my hipbone. Dante had just fucked someone else, and I could smell it on him. They were distracting. “What else did you get?” I asked Dante, not able to think too hard about whether I wanted to try something new.